


From Time to Time

by redlister



Category: Room of Swords (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, M/M, Romance, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:00:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21944758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlister/pseuds/redlister
Summary: Gyrus can tumble through time, though he's not all that good at it. Luckily, this Christmas, he manages to find Kodya of his own accord.(It's the wrong year, but those things take working around.)Time Traveler!Gyrus.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	From Time to Time

In a Russian tavern tucked an oak wall away from the bitter cold on Christmas Eve, the doors blow open.

Kodya is nursing his drink at the bar counter alone. He sits there, the buzz and hum of chatter washing over him, raucous drunken laughter of soldiers bouncing off the wall. Half a glass of vodka brought red to his cheeks, but Kodya is not nearly drunk enough to stomach tales of his comrades’ wily exploits with the townswomen.

Someone climbs onto the stool next to him, boots knocking lightly on the counter. Kodya is chiefly uninterested, but he raises his head anyway to see who it is. He does a double take; nearly spits his drink out. Then his jaw hits the floor, and he is very, very glad to be sober.

_Oh, holy._ Kodya’s eyes roam over the stranger’s green hair, which tumble down to cascade over his shoulders in waves. His star-shaped bangs hang over dark, intense eyes. And oh, Lord is he beautiful, with a face that is delicate and strong all at once.

Kodya almost cannot speak. 

Then the stranger takes the liberty of scooting into Kodya’s personal space. 

“You look well,” the man says jovially. 

“Mind if I have some of that?” And he slides Kodya’s drink across the table and downs the rest of the shot in one gulp.

Kodya startles. “Oi, that’s my drink-“

“Losers weepers, Kodya,” says the stranger teasingly. 

Kodya grips the edge of his stool, flabbergasted. “How do you know my name?”

“What do you mean? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already.” The man frowns, and squints at Kodya. He has upturned eyes, and they shine in the gaslamps. “I know it’s been a long time, but—“

“Since what? I’ve never, I mean—“ Kodya bursts out, scooting back a bit on his stool. “Why are you talking to me?”

The man’s eyebrows scrunch up in surprise and concern. “Kodya... you really don’t remember me?”

Kodya wants to bite back, but something brews in the stranger’s eyes, a wine-colored blend of pain and a coarser emotion he can’t decipher. Somehow he’s so lost in the stranger’s eyes that he finds his annoyance melting away into their pools of purple in the stranger’s irises. “...I’ve never seen you before.”

“It’s the first time,” The stranger says with wonderment. He brings his fingers up to Kodya’s cheek, then snatches them back. “We’ve never met before, have we?”

This feels more momentous, somehow, then the ramblings of another crazed drunk with strange hair. “Never,” Kodya tells him honestly.

“That’s why you look so young. No wonder. How old are you, kid?”

The new moniker isn’t lost on Kodya. “Nearly eighteen,” he says, almost defensively.

“Seventeen,” said the man wonderingly.

“I’m Gyrus,” he continues. “For what it’s worth, you’ll know me quite well in a few years or so.” There’s a knowing, mischievous glint to his eye, gone before Kodya’s even sure he saw it.

“Now, just focus on keeping yourself safe.” His expression turns sad. “God, you look so young.”

“I’m not that young.”

“I know.

“Just remember, I lo—“

Gyrus clears his throat.

“—You have a lot of people on your side.”

He gets up, abruptly, sliding off the stool’s edge onto the wood panels. His dark boots contact with a light thud, and he walks a few steps before turning back. He takes a long look at Kodya, as if trying to memorize his face.

Gyrus mumbles this under his breath, but Kodya hears it anyway.

“It’s been so long since it was the first time.”

He draws his blackened cloak around his shoulders, and takes one last glance toward Kodya. “Merry Christmas,” he says, almost as an afterthought. And then he is gone, whisked out the tavern door into the snow.

  
  
  



End file.
